


The Fall

by kethni



Series: BST [5]
Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 20:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18454205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: ‘This is it, huh?’‘What?’‘All that fucking anger you pretend that you’re too good for,’ Ben said. ‘You’ve been carrying it around since you came back.’Kent chuckled. ‘You’re accusing me of being angry? You spew rage, Ben. But here’s a reality check for you: I’m not to blame for your problems. I’m not responsible for your mistakes, and I didn’t cause the feelings and desires that so clearly disgust you.’





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> End of the series.

   

Kent had only recently incorporated running to work into his schedule. He was, as yet, undetermined if he would continue with it. Although it had excellent cardio benefits, it put stress on the joints and exposed one to additional car pollution. Perhaps he would stick to the treadmill.

If he had stuck to the treadmill, if he had driven to work, then he might have seen the news on the screens at the gym or heard it on the radio.

But he ran, instead, and didn’t pick up his texts until he arrived at the West Wing. By then people were running around screaming.

Kent jumped in and out of the shower at work, dressed, and tried to stop the sky from falling in.

He was feet away from POTUS’s appointment secretary, and therefore from POTUS, when he was hijacked.

‘What the fuck is going on?’

Kent tried to make his sigh inaudible. ‘Ma’am?’

Selina Meyer put her hands on her hips. She was a small woman; physically and intellectually. Her paucity of vision was inversely proportionate to her egotism and paralleled her desperate self-aggrandisement. ‘It’s all over the news!’ she hissed. ‘Playing dumb at this point is just fucking insulting.’

Kent clasped his hands together. ‘If you are referring to Ben Cafferty’s arrest –’

‘If? If? What else would I be talking about?’

Kent waited for her to stop talking. ‘I have no information.’

She cocked her head. ‘Ben is out hiring strange and you know nothing about it?’

Kent licked his lips. ‘I’m not precisely privy to the vagaries Ben’s private life,’ he said carefully. ‘If he has resorted to paying for sex, then it’s clearly something POTUS will have to address, whoever the young man is.’

Selina poked her finger at him. ‘Look buster, I’m the first female vice-president. If a senior aide is abusing... Wait, what did you say?’

Kent was uncomfortably aware that people were staring. ‘Nothing.’

‘Before,’ she persisted. ‘You said you men.’

He felt himself grow cold. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You said men.’ She looked at the onlookers. ‘Right? He said men.’

Kent squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.

‘I misspoke.’

Selina looked completely unconvinced. ‘Get your mind out of the fucking gutter,’ she said. ‘This is Ben, not you, and –’

‘Why do presume that it’s worse?’ Kent demanded.

She hesitated for a moment. ‘What?’

‘Get my mind out of the gutter? Why would Ben hiring a male sex worker be “the gutter” but a female sex worker isn’t?’

Selina’s make-up was always expertly applied, so it was barely noticeable that she went pale, but she did, and he noticed. He also noticed her swallow sharply.

She jerked her head towards a small office. He followed her in and folded his arms as the two aides scurried out.

‘Ben’s been married a bunch of times,’ Selina said. ‘If he’s gay or bi or whatever then he’s been lying to those women. Maybe exposing them to God knows what diseases. I know you two hate each but that’s a shitty thing to imply if you don’t have proof.’

It would be easy. Easy to say he had proof. Easy and so satisfying. Ben deserved it. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to keep his secret anymore.

But no. You didn’t do that. It wasn’t done, not even to people you hated, and he didn’t hate Ben.

‘It wasn’t my intention to imply that,’ Kent said icily. ‘Please don’t allow me to impinge on your desire to tell me about the consequences of being closeted. _Your_ opinion and direct knowledge of this very specific experience is obviously broad and valid.’

To her credit Meyer didn’t bolt. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

‘Never figured you had enough humanity to lash out in anger,’ she said. ‘Okay.’ She held up her hand. ‘I am talking now, and you are listening. You’re right. I’m straight. But I’m not the fucking enemy. I’m the best friend every bi, gay, pan, or otherwise has in the Capitol and don’t you forget it.’

‘Ma’am,’ Kent said stiffly.

‘Right.’ She flicked back her hair. ‘We hate each other for plenty of legitimate reasons. Let’s not argue over bullshit.’

It was the only time he could remember when, “I don’t hate you,” would be the wrong response. So, he nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But I’ve only just arrived. At this point I really no information.’

Meyer tapped her foot. ‘Someone should talk to Elizabeth.’

‘Before the press, ideally.’

She winced. ‘Fine but you damn well owe me.’

He blinked. ‘I wasn’t suggesting –’

‘Don’t fucking whine. Go pull Hughes down off the ceiling. He can’t do shit without Ben.’

***

POTUS was stood at his window, staring out into the Rose Garden. When Kent shut the office door behind him, POTUS glanced back.

‘You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.’

‘Alas, Vice President Meyer wished to express her thoughts on the current situation with Ben.’

POTUS’s lip curled up. ‘Of course, she did. Is there anything about which the Vice President doesn’t have a loud and uninformed opinion.’

Kent thought about it. ‘Abortion, euthanasia, legislation of cannabis, anything which requires nuance and the willingness to definitively pick a side and stick to it.’

POTUS snorted. ‘No politician wants to do that.’ He picked up his coffee cup and swirled the coffee in it around. ‘Ben is in the D.C. jail. I need you to pick him up and take him somewhere quiet while this mess is being sorted out.’

Kent licked his lips. ‘Is Ben… okay?’

POTUS drew his brows together. ‘He was arrested for boning a twenty-year-old sex worker.’

Kent winced. ‘The D.C. Central Detention Facility has a deserved reputation for –’

‘Oh,’ POTUS said, reddening. ‘I didn’t… Hell. I didn’t think. Just… sort it out, Kent. I thought I could trust Benny. I hope I can trust you.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ Kent said, turning to the door.

‘Kent.’

He looked back. POTUS was messing with a corner of his desk.

‘Sir?’

‘Did you know?’ POTUS’s shoulders tensed as he forced himself to look up. ‘There’s… you people can tell. You can recognise each other.’

Kent silently counted to ten. ‘Ben _was_ with a male sex worker, then.’

‘Says he’s twenty. He looks fifteen,’ POTUS sneered. ‘Jesus. You think you know someone…’

Kent shuffled his feet. ‘We don’t know what criteria Ben was using,’ he said. ‘I have no reason to believe that Ben has a specific interest in underaged –’

‘Men,’ POTUS said. ‘You knew that he liked men.’

Kent folded his arms. ‘He would dispute that assertion. In the teeth of overwhelming evidence, he would dispute it.’ He sighed. ‘Yes, I knew.’

POTUS tapped his foot. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me? He’s married for God’s sake!’ He shook his head. ‘I was prepared for him to be cheating with a secretary not for him to be renting cheap dick around the back of a burned-out Blockbuster.’

Kent blinked. He had no idea that POTUS even _had_ an imagination, let alone such a bizarre one. ‘Sexual misconduct is sadly common,’ he said cautiously. He opened the door. ‘I’ll call when I’ve collected Ben.’

‘Good,’ POTUS said, looking away. ‘Don’t let him do anything more idiotic than he already has.’

***

Kent was a member of a motorcycle club. _Not_ a gang. He was not, in the generally acknowledged meaning of the word, a criminal. The generally acknowledged meaning of the word of course being those unfortunates of the “wrong” socio-economic background who had the misfortune to be caught breaking certain types of laws.

There were types of theft which were socially unacceptable: shoplifting, burglary, robbery, etc, and there were types of theft which were, if not acceptable, considered more peccadillos than crimes: fraud, embezzlement, insider trading, etc.

Kent had broken the law. Mostly in the furtherance of his role in the Hughes’ Administration to be fair. He was enough of a student of both law and history to know that his workplace peccadillos would, if it ever came to it, only secure him a brief time in a relatively relaxed prison suitable for white collar criminals. Afterwards he would be feted with book deals, speaking engagements, and a kind of wry, public adoration.

Not even in his worst imaginings would he spend time in a facility should as the D.C. Correctional Facility. Inmates there killed themselves. Students visiting were strip searched for the apparent amusement of the staff. It was “correctional” only in its name. Its purpose was not redemption or reformation but punishment.

Kent’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Ben was… not a good man. He was _emphatically_ not a good man. He lied. He broke the law. He drank far too much. He cheated. He gaslighted, a term which Kent had only recently learned. Apparently, he had taken to paying for sex, a transaction that carried a myriad of its own moral, ethical, and legal considerations.

Kent had no particular moral issue with sex work. Sex was a basic human need, and, in theory, he saw no reason why a person shouldn’t pay for another to provide. The reality was, of course, far more complex. The idea of a sex worker as a mixture of Madonna and whore, therapist and lover, entirely in control of their destiny was as beguiling as it was fallacious. Although he had never engaged one himself, he had dealings with them on behalf of several employers: both political and business. Sex work, in Kent’s admittedly limited experience, generally involved an imbalance of power that was always… questionable. If Ben’s judgement was now so poor that he considered hiring one was a good idea, then it was entirely possible that he was oblivious to either exploiting or being exploited.

***

The Washington D.C. Central Detention Facility had an atmosphere of grinding misery. Kent tried to ignore the suspicious stares and open sneering comments as he waited for Ben to be dragged out. He was trying to breath shallowly, to avoid the acrid scent of vomit barely covered by bleach and disinfectant. The buzzing flickering fluorescent lights were giving him the beginning of a headache.

Ben’s eyes were flecked with red and smudged with dark bags. His gaze, when it drifted across Kent’s vision, was blank and unfocussed. He shambled after Kent to the car and pawed at the handle until the door opened.

In the close confines of the car, the sharp, sour scent of Ben’s skin was unavoidable. Kent looked away from the other man.

The roads were busier than Kent had expected. A jumper who couldn’t quite make up her mind was causing a huge diversion. The busyness was a relief in a way. It required a little extra thought, it provided something else for him to think about.

‘I need a piss.’ It was the first thing that Ben had said. His voice was low and scratchy.

Kent shifted in his seat. He called up Goggle for the nearest gas station.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Ben muttered. ‘What’s wrong with a map?’

Kent ignored him. Ben could barely type. It was hardly surprising that he was a Luddite. Instead he turned on the radio. NPR. He changed the channel. Talk radio was haphazard. He had to be in the mood for it and he certainly wasn’t now.

He turned the dial until he heard classical music. Not a favourite but it would do for now.

Even as Kent drew up to the gas pump, Ben was unbuckling his seatbelt. He threw open the door and stumbled out of the car. 

Kent took several deep breaths as he filled the tank. Concentrating on his breathing helped him calm. Helped him focus. He went into the gas station and scanned the shelves of sugary, fat-filled snacks that clogged the aisle like so many brightly coloured blood clots. He picked up a Twinkie. It wasn’t something he would normally eat unless he was severely pressed.

He got a coffee from the machine. He had a feeling that he was going to need the caffeine. There was a television above the counter. It wasn’t Fox News playing, thankfully, but news, nonetheless. As Kent waited on line, he saw an item about Facebook, a mention of a shooting, and then the inevitable. The footage of Ben’s arrest had clearly come from someone’s cell phone. All hail citizen journalists. It didn’t matter if someone was being arrested, mauled by a tiger, or abducted by aliens: the impulse to reach for a cell phone was always the same.

President Hughes, the anchor announced portentously, was expected to make a statement later. Almost certainly something boring and essentially meaningless, if previous events were any indicator. It was all so cliched, the only thing missing was media of Ben demeaning gays or bisexuals. A close search would doubtless find some tasteless jokes, in the same way that a close search would find Ben making tasteless jokes about _anything_. They wouldn’t find anything worse than that because Ben, like so many men of his ilk, made their tolerance part of their identity, despite being unable to honestly accept his actual identity.

Outside, Kent sipped his coffee. he took a moment to enjoy the taste, and the feel of the breeze. The weather was lovely. it should have been roiling clouds and a gathering storm. Where was the pathetic fallacy when you needed it?

Movement caught his attention. Ben was stumbling over to the car. He looked no better in bright sunlight then he had in the flickering anaemic light of the jail.

He grunted as Kent unlocked the car. Not a grunt of acknowledgement but of irritation. Of course, it wasn’t acknowledgement. When did Ben ever acknowledge Kent in any way other than in the most dismissive and sneering terms?

Kent started the car and pilled out onto the road.

‘Where’s my coffee?’

‘Did you buy one?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Ben growled. He grabbed the Twinkie and tore it open. ‘We’re going the wrong way.’

Kent gripped the steering wheel. ‘We’re not going to the West Wing.’

He felt rather than saw Ben’s quick glance.

‘You fucking kidnapping me?’

Kent released a long, slow breath. ‘POTUS has decided it would be best for your profile to drop for a while.’

‘I can’t just fucking vanish, people are gonna notice!’

Kent snorted. ‘Nobody will be surprised.’

Ben was quiet for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was low. ‘It’s out?’

Kent bit his cheek. ‘Yes.’

‘Like, on Twitter or just people gossiping because –’

‘You’re page three in the Washington Post,’ Kent said. ‘CNN, Fox News, BBC, Aljazeera...’ He glanced at Ben. The other man had his eyes tightly shut.

‘I need to talk to Elizabeth,’ Ben said eventually. ‘Gimmie my cell.’

‘You know I can’t do that,’ Kent said.

‘Fuck you! I’m fighting for my marriage and career here!’ Ben yelled, slamming his hand against the dashboard.

‘You have a hell of a way of doing it,’ Kent retorted.

Ben growled. ‘I don’t know what you think you know, but I love my wife.’

Kent pulled the car over. ‘You were arrested with a sex worker.’

‘It’s bullshit.’

Kent stared at him. ‘You are astonishing.’

‘What, you’re gonna believe some cops over me? You fucking know me!’

Kent nodded. ‘That’s why I believe them.’

Ben looked away. ‘Just drive the fucking car.’

***

The cabin was always well stocked. Every administration had its scandals: potential and realised. Every administration had people it wanted to hide away for one reason or another. Kent hadn’t been here before. Although he was no stranger to trouble shooting for President Hughes, he was rarely tasked with directly getting his hands dirty. Hughes did not consider him to have the “people skills” for dealing with blackmailers, abandoned mistresses, and drug-addled, disease-riddled, drop-out kids. That usually fell to Ben, a choice which Kent had frequently found confounding. Ben’s “people skills” seemed to revolve around yelling, insults, and appeals to alcoholism, drug addiction, or simple greed.

At the moment, he seemed to have little enthusiasm for any of them.

***

He mooched about the cabin as is he’d never seen it before. Kent called in and updated Hughes. Things were no better. It was still too early to guess if it would blow over or build. There was every chance that this wasn’t the first time Ben had employed a sex worker, merely the first time that he’d been caught. Kent checked the larder. He’d have to have some groceries delivered. Living on pizza and fries might work for Ben, but Kent had higher standards.

He heard a crash from the living room. Ben had thrown himself onto the couch. Higher standards for some things at least. Ben was a train-wreck. He had always been a train-wreck. He could be... likeable when he wanted. Not charming, Kent mistrusted charm, but there was occasionally a hint of warmth and cheekiness in amongst all the rest. Perhaps some stupidly optimistic, hopelessly stupid, part of Kent had thought that Ben might deal with his issues. Perhaps it was nothing more complex than Ben being interested. A tragic lack of self-esteem pushing Kent to accept even Ben’s mercurial interest.

Kent shook his head. It didn’t matter. They hadn’t been intimate together in months. More than months. Now Ben had fallen from grace. Kent wasn’t going to be pulled down with him.

Kent made a list of groceries, called in an order, and turned on the bath. Normally he preferred a shower, but he needed some time and space to clear his head.

The air was turning steamy. Kent opened the window a crack. A little cool air stabbed through. Kent shivered reflexively as he took off his shirt. He wasn’t truly cold. It was an instinct, nothing more.

Another cold front assailed him as Ben opened the bathroom door.

‘I’m having a bath,’ Kent snapped.

‘Then you’re doing it wrong.’ Ben looked him up and down. His mouth pulled slightly. As if he couldn’t decide whether to smile or sneer.

‘Go away,’ Kent said.

Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘What? We’re just talking.’

Kent sighed. ‘I’m not entering into a debate. Please leave so that I can take a bath.’

Ben rolled his eyes. ‘This is why you have no friends,’ he said. ‘People try to be your friend and you get pissy.’

Kent narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re not my friend, Ben. You never wanted to be my friend.’

Ben crossed his arms. ‘Don’t pretend you know what I want.’

Kent shook his head. ‘You may have no idea what you want, Ben, but you are completely transparent to literally everyone else.’

He wasn’t sure what Ben would say. He rarely responded well to being direct. but Kent’s patience had long since worn away.

‘You –’

Someone thumped on the front door. ‘Delivery!’

‘Am I allowed to be seen by the public?’ Ben sneered.

Kent pushed him out of the door. ‘This is for you benefit and frankly I have had enough. Do whatever you want.’

***

Kent tried to relax. He couldn’t feel hear Ben stamping around but it felt as though he should be able to.

He was supposed to go away with Jane at the weekend. Two days in Martha’s Vineyard. Damn Ben.

Kent heard cursing and then a thump, followed immediately by a howl of pain. Ben probably kicked or hit something in a fit of pique. Going off the noise he’d probably broken a toe. Good. It served him right.

***

Kent was getting dressed when he heard the sound. He closed his eyes. It would stop in a moment and he could pretend that he hadn’t heard it.

It wasn’t that he was heartless or cold, although he knew people thought that. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, although he wished he didn’t.

It was exhaustion. He was exhausted dealing with Ben. The very thought of talking to him was tiring. Dealing with him in an emotional state was to stare into a pit of despair, unsure if you have the strength to climb out.

The sound stopped. Kent sighed. He would go check the groceries and start dinner. That would allow Ben some space to compose himself. It would allow Kent some time to think about something else.

He was making an orange reduction for the duck when Selina Meyer called. He put the phone on speaker and continued.

‘What the fuck is that noise?’ she demanded.

‘I’m making dinner.’

‘Cosy,’ she sneered.

It was a relief she wasn’t there. She had a great many shortcomings, but she was no fool, and Kent had already accidentally spurred her suspicions.

‘Did you speak to Elizabeth Cafferty?’ he asked.

Selina groaned. ‘Fucking shit show. They’re basically separated. Ben’s sleeping in the guest room. Has been for months.’

Kent poured the mixture into a pan. ‘I wasn’t aware or that.’

‘Since the last heart attack. Some little hoochie boy kept calling. Elizabeth was pissed.’

Kent winced and glanced towards the hung room. ‘Could she have been mistaken?

‘Ha! Typical fucking man,’ she said. ‘First instinct is always gaslight the women. Gimmie a break.’

‘I was merely –’

‘No,’ Selina interrupted. ‘You knew he was fucking guys so don’t make out there’s some confusion.’

Kent squeezed the bridge of his nose. ‘Did she say anything else?’

Selina sighed. ‘She’s fucking furious, but I think I persuaded her to stand by him. Officially anyway.’

‘Good.’

‘If that how we decide to go,’ she added. ‘Jesus, it’s the 21st Century. Why doesn’t he just come out?’

Kent leaned back against the counter and closed his eyes. ‘That is an excellent question

‘Got no answer?’ she asked.

‘Nothing that would satisfy,’ he said wearily. ‘Certainly, no answer I find satisfying.’

He heard her moving and she suddenly sounded almost as tired as he felt.

‘I knew that you knew,’ she said. ‘No outing him, huh?’

‘It would be considered beyond the pale,’ Kent said.

‘Are we okay saying that? Sounds kinda dodgy.’

Kent thought about it. ‘Beyond the pale? Wrong kind of pale. It’s a reference to a stake or fence post.’

‘You sure?’

‘Entirely sure,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Okay. Good. We don’t need you going all racist asshole on us. It’s way too human.’

Kent rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll make a note that you consider racism to be humanising.’

‘Have you met my mom?’

Kent almost smiled. ‘You will have to accept my ongoing annoyance with Ben as an alternative.’

‘The kid threw him under the bus,’ Meyer said more quietly. ‘He’s given two interviews already.’

Kent closed his eyes. ‘When you say “kid” you’re speaking metaphorically and not...’

‘Literally? No. Thank Christ for small mercies. Ben wouldn’t do that. Would he? Fuck. I feel like I don’t even know him anymore.’ She snorted. ‘Don’t tell me, that’s exactly why people don’t come out.’

Kent shrugged, although she couldn’t see it. ‘Some people. Certainly.’ The duck sizzled as he laid it in the hot pan.

‘What the hell was that?’

‘I’m making dinner.’

‘It sounded like a fucking firing squad,’ she grumbled.

‘Never in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Too messy.’ He picked the spatula. ‘I believe that I’ve kept your attention for long enough.’

Selina made a dismissive noise. ‘You want me to fuck off then just say so.’

‘It’s been a very long day, Ma’am.’

‘Ha!’ she said. ‘C’mon, Kent. Just once be human enough to tell me to fuck off.’

Kent sighed. ‘Fuck off, Selina.’

She sniggered. ‘Talk soon, robot balls.’

***

Kent laid out the table. It was, he knew, a peculiar thing to do. Ben was the kind of man who preferred to eat from a tray on his knees, probably while watching reruns of “Wagon Train” or “Bonanza.” Kent was lately in the habit of standing up and eating at the kitchen counter. Lady Hamilton had a tendency to “lap fungus” and if he sat down to eat then he’d end up trapped for hours.

He sighed and called Jane.

‘How is everything?’ he asked.

‘Everything is fine,’ she said. ‘Emma is napping, and I am reading your diary.’

Kent frowned. ‘Whose is Emma?’

‘Lady Hamilton of course,’ she said. ‘Good Lord. I thought you were a student of history,’ she teased.

Kent chuckled. ‘She doesn’t answer to Emma.’

‘Of course not! She’s a cat. The only thing they answer to is the call of wild adventure on a moonlit night,’ she said. ‘And the can opener. Mostly the can opener.’

‘You’re aware that she’s a purely indoor cat? The likelihood of her going on a wild adventure is… slim.’

Jane tutted. ‘As far as _you_ know she’s indoor only. I think that you’re underestimating her. You should be ashamed that you’re repressing her need to run into the night and…’

‘Get run over?’ Kent asked tartly. ‘Kill small animals?’

It was Jane’s turn to chuckle. ‘I was thinking more about extravagant and exotic sexcapades.’

Kent snorted. ‘I’m a responsible owner. It’s far too late for that.’ He glanced out towards the living room. ‘Some people would benefit from the same treatment.’

Jane whistled. ‘So you and Ben won’t be having steamy sex made instantly hotter by the fact that it’s both forbidden and just… the worst idea?’

‘No,’ he said wincing. ‘For any number of reasons.’

They said their goodbyes and Kent poured himself a glass of wire. Doubtless by now Ben would have plundered the liquor cabinet. Kent sighed as he put the food out. He had seen Ben drunk too many times to expect any good to come of it.

***

Ben stood in the doorway, staring as Kent sat down to eat. ‘What the fuck is this?’

‘Pan-fried duck with orange salsa,’ Kent said. ‘There wasn’t any stock, so I had to improvise a little.’

Ben leaned heavily on a chair; his meaty red hands gripping the top of the chair. ‘You expect me to eat? This is probably the end of my career and you want me to eat?’

Kent narrowed his eyes. ‘Eat. Don’t eat. I don’t care. Just go somewhere else if you’re going to be ass.’

Ben’s heckles dropped and he wandered over to the table. ‘You’re in a shitty mood,’ he said.

Kent dissected a potato. ‘I’m babysitting you and I’ve already spent too much time and effort doing that.’

Ben prodded his food with his fork. ‘POTUS isn’t taking my calls.’

‘You have another cell?’

‘Landline in the Living room,’ Ben said. He still didn’t look at Kent. ‘Nobody is taking my calls. I turned on the news and there are assholes calling me every name under the sun.’

Kent took a sip of his wine. ‘What did you expect?’ he asked gently.

‘I expected to be heard out, to be able to explain that this is... _bullshit._ It’s not what they’re saying on the news,’ Ben insisted.

Kent looked at him. ‘Nobody cares if you’re gay or bi or pan. Not really. What they care about is that you’re a cheat, a liar, and that your judgement is so spectacularly flawed that you would hire the kind of sex worker who probably takes payment in cash, meth, or Denny’s gift cards.’

Ben looked at him. Kent expected an explosion, but instead Ben folded his arms.

‘This is it, huh?’

‘What?’

‘All that fucking anger you pretend that you’re too good for,’ Ben said. ‘You’ve been carrying it around since you came back.’

Kent chuckled. ‘You’re accusing me of being angry? You spew rage, Ben. But here’s a reality check for you: I’m not to blame for your problems. I’m not responsible for your mistakes, and I didn’t cause the feelings and desires that so clearly disgust you.’

Ben turned red. ‘My life is imploding and you wanna talk about some petty shit like labelling who I wanna fuck?’

Kent turned his attention back to his food. ‘I’m told that you and Elisabeth were already sleeping apart.’

‘That’s not the point! Who told you that?’ Ben demanded.

‘Elizabeth told Selina Meyer,’ Kent said with a shrug. ‘Selina is likely telling anyone with whom she discusses the issue. You know how this works, Ben. Your private life ceases to be private when you make it a public problem.’

Ben pushed some peas around his plate, and then ate some duck. ‘This isn’t bad.’ he said quietly.

‘Thank you,’ Kent said. He tried to concentrate on his food. He had a knot of anxiety gnawing at his gets.

‘You still seeing that chick, Jane?’

‘Woman. Yes.’

Ben grunted. ‘It’s not true that people don’t care. I’ve fooled around with other women. Got caught. Got divorced. It never made the news.’

‘Were any of them sex workers?’ Kent asked tartly.

‘Will you stop saying that?’ Ben groaned. ‘It wasn’t even about sex. I just... I’m not you. I need people. People to talk to. People to be around.’ He looked away.

‘A therapist –’

‘You can’t touch a therapist!’ Ben growled. He was staring unseeing at his plate. ‘Sometimes I need to just… touch someone.’

Kent reached across the table and tentatively touched the back of Ben’s hand with his fingers.

Ben grabbed hold of his hand. Kent swallowed but didn’t pull his hand away.

‘Don’t worry, I know this is just pity,’ Ben muttered.

‘I am capable of some empathy and compassion.’

‘Shame you give it all to your cat.’

Kent rolled his eyes. ‘You have no idea how much I’ve extended to you.’

Ben looked up. He stared at Kent. ‘All those times you pushed me away, that was your compassion was it?’

Kent shook his head. ‘You were married. You were closeted. Becoming involved with you as much as I did was a mistake. Further emotional entanglement would’ve been a disaster.’

Ben pulled his hand away as he leaned back. ‘Oh yeah, I can see the compassion now,’ he sneered.

‘Where’s _your_ empathy then?’ Kent asked. ‘You used me, Ben. You pursued me despite repeated requests to stop. Not because you liked me but because you were curious, because you wanted to see what it was like, without any consequences or any emotional engagement.’

‘You knew what you were doing,’ Ben retorted. ‘I didn’t fucking make you do anything you didn’t want to.’

Kent gulped some wine. ‘That’s not my point.’

‘Your point is that I’m a bad fucking guy who cheats. Boo- fucking-hoo.’ Ben attacked his food as if it were a kind of punctuation.

Kent sighed. ‘I’m glad we got this sorted. It was certainly worth the time, effort, and emotional labour.’

Ben didn’t look up. ‘Because I just used you. I didn’t want to be your friend. You didn’t mean jack shit to me.’

Kent snorted. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that you are the aggrieved party here?’

‘I’m not the one who left without a fucking word. I’m not the one who _came back_ without a fucking word,’ Ben growled.

Kent pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘What do you want, Ben, a kiss on the forehead? An apology for not hanging around forever just in case you feel like a drunken fumble which would, as always, be accompanied by refusals to acknowledge the truth of what we’re doing?’

 

He finally looked at Kent. ‘I’m sixty years old. You think I’m running around, paying through the nose just to get some human contact because it’s fun? Fucking newsflash, it’s not fun. It’s fucking humiliating. I come out feeling worse than when I started.’

Kent shrugged. ‘Then stop,’ he said quietly. ‘Ben, you need help. You need therapy or something.’

The other man pulled a face. ‘Claiming sex addiction is played out. Nobody falls for that shit.’

‘No, not as a PR strategy for you.’ Kent sighed. ‘This self-destructiveness can’t end well.’

Ben stood up. ‘Nothing ends well, smart guy. It just fucking ends. We’re born, we disappoint our parents, partners, and kids, then we die.’

Kent watched him stamp away. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To grab some Scotch and go get pissed in my bedroom.’ Ben threw open the door. ‘Feel free to come join me.’

***

Kent was clearing up in the kitchen when someone knocked on the door. He checked his cell: no messages or missed calls. No obvious reason for anyone to be at the door, other than a particularly enterprising reporter.

Shit.

Well, perhaps Ben had ordered a pizza. That wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. Or porn. Could one have porn delivered? If it were possible then Ben would certainly consider it. Outside was a middle-aged blonde. For a moment, Kent had absolutely no idea who she was.

‘Of course, it’s you,’ she said tiredly.

‘Elizabeth?’ Kent asked. ‘Mrs Cafferty what –’

‘Where’s Ben?’ she asked, pushing past.

Kent shut the door. ‘He said he was going upstairs to get drunk.’

She pulled a face and threw her purse onto the couch. ‘You didn’t know I was coming? Typical that he wouldn’t tell you.’

‘Ben doesn’t have his cell.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Not Ben, President Pinhead. Not that he told me either. I’m delegated to the Very Pointless Vice President.’

Kent tried not to laugh but failed. Elizabeth ran her fingers through her hair.

‘Where’s the kitchen? You assholes better have coffee.

‘This way.’

As he put the kettle on, she looked in the pantry and cupboards.

‘Why doesn’t Ben have his cell?’

‘It’s standard in this situation,’ Kent said.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s common enough for the President’s Chief of Staff to be arrested with a rent boy that there’s a standard procedure?’

‘Not specifically,’ Kent agreed. ‘Members of the administration hiding from the press generally is... not as rare as we might wish.’

Elizabeth frowned as she made coffee. ‘He gets to hide in a woodland cabin with... _you_ , while his family is besieged by reporters.’

Kent licked his lips. ‘You seem to have evaded pursuit for now,’ he said meekly.

‘Don’t even ask me the hoops I had to jump through to do that.’ She gave Kent a hard stare. ‘You really haven’t spoken to Hughes today.’

‘The reception here is poor,’ he said. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why?’

She wrapped her hands around the mug. ‘They’re throwing him to the wolves,’ she said. ‘Oh, with great reluctance, very grateful for all his work, blah, blah. He’s an embarrassment and they’re trying to bury him.’

Kent pressed his palms to his eyes. ‘Right.’

‘They don’t want you photographed driving him back’ she spat. ‘I have to do it.’

Kent pointed over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go get him and –’

‘I suppose I should thank you,’ she said, looking at her cup. ‘I’ve heard horror stories about women he slept with turning up on the doorstep. Phone calls. Threats.’

Kent licked his lips. ‘I was never under any impression that Ben had any interest or commitment to anything but the immediate gratification of his passing desires.’

She tapped her fingers on the worktop. ‘Just sex?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bullshit.’

Kent blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You weren’t a one-night stand,’ she said. ‘You were having a goddamn affair all through the –’

Kent was shaking his head. ‘It was one night that we... We had sex the night of the election. One or two...’ He was waving his hands. ‘Minor encounters before.’

‘Minor encounters,’ she repeated. ‘I’m not gonna argue emotional affair bullshit with you. He said your name in his damn sleep.’

Kent sat down on a dining chair. ‘What?’

‘More than once. Do me a favour and don’t tell him that. He has no idea how every wife knows he’s cheating.’

Kent nodded. ‘Understood.’

Elizabeth sat opposite him. ‘You really made him work for it. That was some comfort.’

Kent rubbed his eyes. ‘He’s married, and closeted, and... he won’t even admit it to himself. It was such a mess. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Elizabeth sipped her coffee. ‘Yeah, he was the only married man I fucked too.’ She shrugged at his expression. ‘Some men make a habit of marrying the mistress. Some women need to get better at pattern recognition.’

Kent braced his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She looked at him over her mug. ‘For fucking my husband?’

‘For all of it. There were only a few... physical expressions of desire, but there was ongoing sexual tension. Flirtation perhaps. Ben took every opportunity to push an agenda; to solicit inappropriate physical and emotional intimacy. I tried to stop it, but I should have tried harder.’

Elizabeth leaned back. ‘You should.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘You swing both ways?’

‘Bisexual, yes.’

She nodded. ‘That what Ben is?’

Kent crossed his legs. ‘Ben doesn’t know what he is and I’m reluctant to label someone else.’

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ‘Live a little.’

‘I would say not,’ Kent admitted. ‘Being bisexual doesn’t prevent one from having an entirely happy, committed, and monogamous relationship.’

‘But being gay does?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t your lot supposed to be PC?’ 

Kent frowned. ‘Being a gay man would hardly help any gay man remain committed and faithful to a woman,’ he said. ‘Ben won’t admit who and what he is, even to himself, so he makes the same mistake over and over.’

Elizabeth drained her mug. ‘Except you came along and now he’s admitting it enough that he’s chasing dick instead of pussy. Good job.’

Kent winced. ‘I don’t think that’s fair.’

‘True though. Unless he was just better at hiding it.’

Kent looked away. ‘Things will die down in a few weeks.’

‘For him, maybe. It rolls off him. Not for my kids. They already have schoolmates jeering at them. Little shits. I’d like to slap ‘em.’ She stood up.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘If he doesn’t end up in jail? Move,’ she said bluntly. ‘Somewhere he can fuck around without it being a life-ending disaster.’

Kent raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re staying with him?’

‘I’m raising kids with him,’ she said. ‘One way or another I’m stuck with him so I might as well make the best of this fucking mess. There’s no point in getting divorced until they’re out of school, if he’s still alive. Don’t look like that. He’s old. He’s in shit shape. He nearly died a couple months ago.’

‘You’re remarkably forgiving,’ Kent said.

She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t confuse forgiveness and pragmatism. I haven’t forgiven him for ruining my fucking life.’ She shrugged. ‘But he’s suffering enough.’

‘Losing his job will be difficult. He lives for his work.’

She shot him a look. ‘It’s not losing the work that’s going to hurt him the most.’

Kent watched her walk to the stairs. For all her claims to pragmatism she was romantic, for want of another word, in her belief that his… mistakes with Ben had some kind of deeper meaning. Kent had been lonely, perhaps vulnerable, and weak enough to be persuaded. Ben had merely found him convenient. Kent was well aware of the theory that your first transitional relationship wouldn’t, couldn’t, last. Things were too new, and the power imbalance was too great.

If you could even call what they had a relationship.

Kent finished clearing the dishes. Hughes should have called, or at least had someone else call him. Did he think that something was going on for Elizabeth to break-up?

It was a deeply unpleasant thought. Fortunately, the likelihood of him being perceptive enough was very slim. He seemed to have had no clue about Ben’s sexual taste, and he’d known Ben for forty years.

His cell rang: Amy Brookheimer. That couldn’t bode well.

‘Hi Kent,’ she said before he could speak. ‘It’s been decided that Ben needs to be cut loose, so his wife is gonna come pick him up. We’ll announce the usual about time with his family blah blah.’

There was shouting upstairs. Kent tried to ignore it. ‘She arrived twenty minutes ago.’

‘Did she fucking teleport?’ Amy demanded. ‘We only decided an hour... okay, is that the time? Fuck, three hours ago. I’m gonna be late.’

Kent sighed. ‘Goodbye, Amy.’

The door opened. Ben stamped in, carrying his jacket. His face was a faint puce, fading quickly. Elizabeth stepped past him.

‘I suppose you two were having a great gossiping how shit I am in bed,’ Ben growled.

‘Thank you for making this easier,’ Kent said tartly.

‘If you’re bad in bed it’s the same reason that you’re a terrible husband and a worse father,’ Elizabeth said.

‘What’s that?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Selfishness.’

‘ _If_ he’s a bad lover?’ Kent queried. ‘You’re not sure?’

She pushed back her hair. ‘Oh, I’m sure he’s always been godawful, but then I’m not really his flavour. I have no idea what he’s like with anyone else.’

‘Eh,’ Kent said, with a shrug.

Ben hung his head, not even defending himself with a glare or ugly look.

‘They just called to say you were coming,’ Kent said to Elizabeth, looking for something, anything, else to say. ‘Vice President Meyer’s Chief of Staff.’

Elizabeth snorted. ‘Been a long time since I came for Ben.’

He growled. ‘Okay, fine. Kick me some more, please.’

‘You ruined my life, you’re real close to ruining my kids’ lives. You don’t get to whimper for sympathy just now,’ Elizabeth said.

Ben shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Give us five minutes?’

She snorted. ‘Seriously?’

He gave her a silent look.

Elizabeth glanced at Kent. ‘Don’t make me regret it.’

‘I already do,’ Kent said wryly.

As she left the room, Kent took a few steps back. Away from Ben, with his hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and angry misery coiling in his muscles.

‘I gotta go,’ Ben said. ‘My old buddy Stuart Hughes has decided to throw me to the fucking dogs.’

Kent nodded. ‘You got what you wanted.’

‘You think I wanted this?’ Ben demanded. ‘You think I wanted to be humiliated and ruined?’

‘I think you’re the most self-destructive person I’ve ever met,’ Kent said quietly. ‘And I’ve met Selina Meyer.’

Ben’s reflexive smile came and went as quickly as a bolt of lightning. He shuffled his feet. ‘Elizabeth has this crazy fucking idea that I’m in love with you. Can you believe that?’

Kent folded his arms. ‘I believe that _she_ believes it. Perhaps that makes it easier for her.’

Ben shook his head. ‘Makes it worse. The sex worker, some guy I met on Grindr, those are fucking insults, but they don’t _matter_.’

‘Stop,’ Kent said. ‘I don’t want this.’

‘You were always on at me to talk to you! To be fucking honest with you!’

‘It’s too late,’ Kent said sharply. ‘It’s much too late.’

Ben slammed his hand on the worktop. ‘Because you’ve got a girlfriend?’ he sneered.

‘Because I have a partner,’ Kent agree. ‘More than that, because you took everything, and gave nothing but denial and abuse. You treated me like shit, Ben, an you expected me to forgive you without you ever admitting that you needed forgiveness.’

Ben stared at him in silence for a few moments. ‘Fuck me then,’ he said.

‘If that’s what you heard,’ Kent said.

Ben hunched and turned away. ‘She wasn’t wrong,’ he said, opening the door.

Kent watched him leave and listened to the front door open and close. ‘I know,’ he said quietly.

The End.

 


End file.
